


Husbands

by ElizaPembroke



Series: Scenes from a Marriage [1]
Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Codewords for Sex, Domestic Bliss, Domestic Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich, M/M, Marrital Bliss, Mild Smut, Post-Season/Series 10
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-07 07:34:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,177
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26349424
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ElizaPembroke/pseuds/ElizaPembroke
Summary: When combined with a particularly hot, dark-haired man with a set of rings adorning his left hand and Ian’s name above his heart, well, the word husband is sexy as hell.
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Series: Scenes from a Marriage [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1914664
Comments: 44
Kudos: 444





	Husbands

There’s hardly any novelty to their relationship, Ian thinks as he languidly fucks into Mickey, who’s on all fours in front of him, FUCK-tattooed hand gripping the headboard, the U-UP one curled around Ian to steady himself and knead his left asscheek when the fancy strikes.

Even before they got married earlier that month, they’d already passed most of the big relationship milestones.

They’ve done the living together part. They’ve even sort of raised a child together there for a minute. Admittedly, it wasn’t in the greatest of circumstances, but let’s not get into that right now. It still counts.

They’ve met each other’s families. Dealt with a diagnosis of a life-long illness. Survived emotionally-charged break-ups that were, in most part, triggered by said diagnosis. Twice, if you, like Ian, take into account the promised rings fiasco and the whole Byron situation.

It makes him cringe when he thinks about what happened between them just a few weeks ago.

They’ve also done the bit with running together to Mexico, leaving one another at the border, thinking it’s goodbye forever, and then – always the irony of the Gallagher lifestyle – bursting with joy when the other one joins them in prison.

Even by Ian’s standards, that’s a rare one. That shit has to rank pretty high on the ever so convoluted relationship scorecards he definitely doesn’t keep in his head, just so he can pit him and Mickey against other couples around and see that they’re clearly the better one.

He chuckles under his breath as he slides his hands over Mickey’s back. Leaning back a little, he slows down his thrusts to watch the delicious slide of his cock into Mickey’s tight heat.

This is hardly new, too, yet he thinks he’ll never get tired of feeling or seeing it.

With both hands, he takes Mickey’s asscheeks apart to get a better look, bringing a pad of his thumb to brush against the rim of his asshole as his dick stretches it out.

He does nothing to suppress the high-pitched moan it stirs up in him. And, well, it’s not the first time that happens, either.

“Less admirin’, more fuckin’,” Mickey retorts, all breath.

When Ian looks up, he sees that he’s watching him over his shoulder.

“I was admirin’, huh?”

With a grin and a little shuffle to his kneeling position, Ian settles into a more demanding tempo, fingers imprinting onto Mickey’s hips.

He grabs at him from behind to encourage him on.

“It was like you, _uh_ , just finished painting the Sistine Chapel,” Mickey says, his words getting interrupted by moans. “With your dick.”

Ian snorts at the image.

“Can’t help that your ass turns me into an art connoisseur,” he tells Mickey with two especially sharp thrusts, which he tries to aim at his prostate. “And anyway, I’m not nearly done with my dick.”

“ _Fuck_. You’re. So lame,” Mickey punches out, his head lolling between his shoulders. “Can’t believe I married _your_ ass.”

And that’s it, right there. The thing that started this whole lazy morning sex.

Sure, it’s Saturday, which means it’s the first day of the week when they get to have a moment like this. But it was all spurred on from one seemingly innocent thing. When Mickey turned around in Ian’s arms, smiled with his eyes still closed, and softly said:

“Morning, husband.”

It awoke something absolutely feral inside Ian.

Because Mickey is his _husband_. He has a _husband_ now.

His hips jerk forward involuntarily from just thinking about it again now.

And it’s not like it changes much from how they’ve been before. But somehow, it makes what they are feel that more stable and surer. Things that their relationship, despite the strong bond that always pulls them back together in the end, never was.

Those days are over. They made it, and they get to have this now, after all that time. And in Ian’s eyes, all that relief and bliss and love is encompassed in that one word.

 _Husbands_.

When combined with a particularly hot, dark-haired man with a set of rings adorning his left hand and Ian’s name above his heart, well, it’s sexy as hell.

He snakes a hand under Mickey to jerk him off as he nears his own climax.

\---

Afterward, as they lie next to each other on the bed, still catching their breaths, Ian takes in Mickey’s form.

He’s on his belly, facing him. His eyes are closed, and he’s taking short intakes of breath through a sated grin. It looks like he’s not far from falling asleep again.

Ian turns to his side, leaning onto his arm and reaching his other hand out to stroke gently at Mickey’s back.

He smiles.

“You have a mole here,” he says, not more than a whisper.

It still makes Mickey’s body jerk a little, as if he really was already on his way to slumber.

“Huh?”

“You have a new mole on your back. Did you know?” Ian caresses the spot with his finger. “Noticed it first when I was fucking you. You should get it checked, just to be sure.”

Mickey groans, reluctantly turning over to blindly search for the pack of cigarettes he threw on their nightstand last night. When he locates it, he heaves himself up with a new set of worn-out sounds.

“Thought you were too distracted by my ass,” he observes, bending down to reach for a pair of discarded boxers. They’re Ian’s, but whatever. Standing up, he puts them on and finally lights a cigarette.

“Oh, I can easily do both,” Ian answers from the bed, motioning for Mickey to pass him the cigarette, which he does.

“I take it back. You can admire my ass all you want if it keeps you from countin’ all my fuckin’ gray hair or some shit.”

This is also not a totally new concept to them, Ian thinks. The fussing over one another, which the other one outwardly hates but actually appreciates, because it shows that they’re wanted to stick around for as long as they can.

Maybe marriage just means new forms of the same. Ian loves that thought.

He blows out smoke as Mickey pauses, seemingly lost in thought. He watches him take a tissue from the box on their dresser, which he unceremoniously sticks into his boxers and then thoroughly wipes his asshole with it.

“Hot,” Ian notes with a smirk.

Mickey gives him the finger. He goes to throw the tissue in the bin in the bathroom but stops on his way in front of their small mirror. Turning, he grips his side to make the tiny brown dot more prominent as he examines it in the reflection.

\---

Ian quickly realizes that he’s not the only one who has that uncontrollable, all-reason-gone reaction to the word _husband_.

He notices it first when they’re having breakfast one day. Mickey’s finishing his eggs while Ian walks around the table, waiting on the phone to be connected with the insurance company.

It’s one of the last bullet points on his list of bothersome things to do after the wedding, which was thankfully cut shorter by their easily agreed upon decision to keep their last names.

It’s things that Mickey doesn’t necessarily want to take any part in, or at last makes no indication that he does, but Ian wants to do them. Things like updating his insurance and savings account to make Mickey their beneficiary. He wants them to be practical this way in their marriage. In case of whatever.

Mickey probably doesn’t want to think about stuff like that. Or maybe it’s just payback for Ian’s lack of enthusiasm during the planning of their wedding.

The call finally connects, and he moves to stand next to Mickey as he starts setting everything up.

“Yes, it’s for Mikhailo Aleksandr Milkovich,” he says, repeating the name again by spelling it out. He grins as he adds: “My _husband_.”

Never losing eye contact with Mickey, he doesn’t miss the second his whole face changes with a dark urge. He quickly drops his fork and wipes his mouth with the back of his hand. Working Ian’s zipper down, he yanks him closer to take his still soft cock out of his jeans and swallows him into his mouth.

Ian makes sure to mute his side of the phone call before he moans, this long content sound that resonates through the room. With a free hand, he starts carding through Mickey’s hair.

The TV in the living room gets louder, and it’s a sudden announcement it was on in the first place.

“You know we eat at that table,” Liam’s voice carries over the noise.

Mickey gets off Ian’s dick with a wet _pop_. “Shouldn’t you be in school?” he shouts back.

“I really wish I was. But I start at ten today.”

It makes them both snicker.

Ian unmutes his phone call, then, which leaves Mickey staring at his semi-hard erection.

And fuck it, the kid already knows what they’re doing, and it’s not like he was going to let Ian’s jizz anywhere outside his mouth. Plus, Ian’s back is to the other room, so Liam can’t see shit.

He goes back to work, prompting Ian to fist at his hair.

\---

A few days later, they’re buying groceries with Franny in her stroller. She’s fast asleep, which would normally make going through the candy aisle so much easier if it weren’t for his husband’s sweet tooth.

And there’s the feeling again, this tug at his insides that sends warm tingles into every part of his body.

Mickey’s chatting away about some bitch from work, getting pretty annoyed when he recounts how she recently asked him if he ever washed. Ian can’t help his smile as he watches him make circles around them, constantly coming and going with new stuff to put in their basket.

This time, he stops him to place a small peck on his cheek.

It makes them both pause. Ian’s not usually one for PDA, but he has to admit the impulse was stronger than him, just then.

He shrugs at Mickey’s _what was that for_ look.

“Anyway,” Mickey continues his walk-and-talk, “I told her: Look, lady, this ain’t 2011. You can keep your shitty insults.”

Ian follows him with loving eyes, for a moment forgetting they’re in public where people can notice them.

“Sorry, can I just say,” a middle-aged lady he’s passing in the aisle interrupts his reverie, glancing pointedly at their matching rings and the sleeping toddler. “You and your husband make a charming family.”

Ian can see Mickey fight his first instinct to tell her to stick her opinions someplace, realizing that what she said was actually a compliment, meant with no irony or harm. He looks at Ian, who murmurs a hasty _thanks_.

They can’t pay for their groceries soon enough.

“Think we’re traumatizing her?” Ian asks through giggles and moans as he jerks Mickey off in the side alley a few minutes later.

Their shopping bags sit beside the stroller, which is facing away from where they’re hiding behind a large dumpster.

“Nah,” Mickey replies, running his thumb over the head of Ian’s dick. “Pro’bly just giving her unhealthy expectations toward great sex.”

Ian snorts and leans down to kiss him.

\---

They’re being off their tits crazy. Ian knows that even before Mickey tells him one evening when they’re lounging in front of the TV with their family. They’re sharing the armchair, leaning against each other with their shoulders, quietly watching the history documentary Liam chose.

This weird thing between them has kept happening regularly throughout the past couple of weeks, and they’re really _trying_ to be discreet about it.

“Didn’t know you were complaining, _husband_ ,” Ian replies into his ear, squeezing his thigh a little too close to his crotch.

“Mother. Fucker,” Mickey huffs, a grin creeping to his face.

He then does his best to compose himself. Coughs nonchalantly straightens his shoulders, and standing up, announces to the room: “Well, I’m beat. Think I’mma go brush my teeth and go to bed.”

The Gallaghers offer him half-hearted waves and low grunts of good nights.

Ian waits for a minute before dramatically stretching his arms out and yawning. “Yeah, I’ll probably go brush my teeth, too. Night, guys,” he says.

He sprints up the stairs so quickly he doesn’t notice the awkward atmosphere he’s leaving behind.

“They know that _we_ know that the only thing they’re putting in their mouths is each other’s dicks, right?” Carl asks some time after that to the painstakingly kept silence.

It elicits a collective groan from the remaining Gallaghers.

Tami murmurs _gross_ into her beer, while Lip gives his best into smothering his younger brother with a pillow. Liam just shakes his head annoyedly, grabbing a palmful of Fruit Loops from his bowl with one hand and turning up the volume of the TV with the other.

And yeah, Ian and Mickey do know that they know. But they also don’t fucking care. Which is also not new.

**Author's Note:**

> This fic came out of a short meta I wrote some time ago on my tumblr [abundanceofnots](https://abundanceofnots.tumblr.com/). Hopefully, it will be a start to a series. We'll see how it goes.


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